A Lady took a great fancy to a young lion, or a bear, I forget
which—but a bear, or a tiger, I believe it was. It was made her a
present of when a whelp. She fed it with her own hand: she nursed up
the wicked cub with great tenderness; and would play with it without
fear or apprehension of danger: and it was obedient to all her
commands: and its tameness, as she used to boast, increased with its
growth; so that, like a lap-dog, it would follow her all over the
house. But mind what followed: at last, some how, neglecting to satisfy
its hungry maw, or having otherwise disobliged it on some occasion, it
resumed its nature; and on a sudden fell upon her, and tore her in
pieces.—And who was most to blame, I pray? The brute, or the lady? The
lady, surely!—For what she did was out of nature, out of character, at
least: what it did was in its own nature.